


Suede

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, Cats, Dean and Cats, Gen, Inspired by Fanart, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5900842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean rescues an orphaned cat from the front step of an abandoned church. In the middle of a blizzard, no less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suede

Snow blankets the yard outside the Lebanon United Methodist Church that afternoon, falling in thick flakes and covering the dusty landscape in a heavy layer of white. If Dean hadn’t needed to drive to Smith Center and back for a grocery run, he wouldn't have been out in that weather at all, the Impala struggling to make her way through the snowy streets, wheels barely gripping the road. Another few hundred feet, and he could pull into the garage and call it a day.

The sight of a half-opened box on the front step of the church, though, stops him cold, wheels skidding to a halt. As far as he knows, no one has used that building in years, not since he’s lived there and walked the streets of the unincorporated town just for fun. And someone left a box there—a box, in the snow, and no one is coming to claim it. Parked in the middle of the right lane, Dean shuts the Impala off and exits into the snow, running over to the church’s front step with his coat collar pulled high.

The sight inside, when his gloved hands pull the flaps open, shreds his heart. Someone has abandoned a cat—and not a normal cat, but a _hairless_ cat, its entire gray body shivering in violent spasms, cold, watery blue eyes staring up at him in a wordless plea. It can’t even meow, can’t do anything but shiver itself to death. The blanket covering the bottom of the box does no good, and neither do the few scattered toys around it: a stuffed sheep, a few jingling balls, and a note that reads, “Please take care of her.”

He can’t just _leave_ her there. Glancing around, Dean picks up the box and rushes to the Impala, throwing the passenger side door open and depositing it on the front bench. “You, stay,” he whispers and closes the door, quiet enough not to startle her; his presence probably did that enough. He makes it to the bunker and pulls into the garage two minutes later, not even hesitating to carry the box and its occupant inside, placing it delicately on his bed. The groceries can wait; nothing will spoil, anyway, not with this cold.

The cat stares up at him when he picks up her with his bare hands, her entire body shivering, wiry tail barely bothering to wag. He can’t tell if she’s injured, or if there’s something else wrong besides possible hypothermia, but he does what he can and lays across his bed and holds her to his chest, lets her soak up the warmth when he drapes the blanket from the box over her. Light pink, decorated with clouds and smiling suns. “Someone loved you,” he says after a while, his head perched up on two pillows as he watches her, feels her body begin to soften, her eyes drooping shut as the warmth returns to her limbs.

Sam and Castiel are on their way back from a case in Utah, a few hours away at best; too close for him to run an hour into town to get something to feed her, but too far for him to leave her alone. He doesn't even know what she _is_ , but she’s gray and thin, with large ears and wrinkly skin and a pointed black nose. She looks at him with quiet eyes and attempts to meow, coming out in a soft squeak. “Almost there,” he praises and scratches between her ears, earning a rumbling purr. “Don’t even have a collar, do you?”

The cat only burrows closer and hides her face under the blanket. At least she’s stopped shivering.

It takes him another thirty minutes before the crick in his back becomes too much and he sits up, keeping the cat close to his chest. She doesn't even protest, just nestles closer while he walks to the kitchen, the blanket still wrapped around her body. She can’t be more than a year old, maybe less, based on her size. “Think we got some chicken from the other day,” he says aloud to no one. The cat watches him with tears in her eyes, and he doesn't waste a second blotting them dry with the towel. She’ll be scarred, he knows. Abandonment and trust issues, night terrors, tremors—but at least she has a home now, with him.

A _home_ —and his eyes don't even itch from holding her. “Cas said he wanted a cat,” he says, opening the refrigerator one-handed and pulling out a Tupperware container of leftover chicken. “Didn’t think I’d find you, though.”

The cat rubs her head against him and purrs, long and low.

With reluctance, he sets her on the dining table, still bundled in her blanket while he warms up a few strips in a paper towel in the microwave. Mary did this once, decades ago when a stray kept coming by their backyard begging for scraps. The cat likes it enough, nibbling bits from his finger when he pulls some free, always licking her mouth afterwards. Nice teeth—she’s thin, but hopefully he can get her weight up, keep her healthy. “You haven’t eaten in a while, have you?” he questions, soft, and pets down her back, her spine a line of raised bumps under his hand. “How long did they leave you out there?”

He should be mad, he knows—who abandons their cat in the middle of winter, and in a _blizzard_ , no less? But they dropped her off at a church, with the hope that someone would find her and take her inside. Instead, Dean found her. Dean _saved_ her. And she continues to eat from his hand in gratitude, until she finally lays back down and cleans her paw, dirty with mud and wet snow.

It gives him an idea. A few minutes of puttering around on his laptop and multiple breed searches later, Dean puts a name to her face—Peterbald. Russian hairless. “No wonder you’re cold.” She purrs when he pets her, her body almost falling into his touch, her belly rising and falling with each breath. “Says here I need to bathe you once a week.” She looks up at him, inquisitive. “…You want a bath?”

She actually _chirps_ at him, the loudest he’s heard her since she got there. That’s enough for an answer for him.

Dean sets her on the tile floor and allows her to wander after him, her legs shaky when she walks, head jerking towards every room in the hall. Eventually she follows him with her tail held high, the tip twitching in every direction. She continues chirping the whole way and leaps onto the lip of the tub when they enter one of the smaller bathrooms, dipping her nose inside to smell. It’s Castiel’s bathroom, based on the fruity soaps and shampoos, and the shower poofs hanging from the overhead caddy.

She barely waits for him to warm the water up before she jumps in, padding her paws in the water and _sitting_ , her tail swishing. “Someone trained you,” he laughs, and lets the tub fill a few inches, enough for her to stand on her own. She swims while he rifles through Castiel’s soap collection, finally coming up with something for sensitive skin. At least she’ll smell like oranges when he’s done.

“Should probably name you something,” he says while he rubs her back, the cat purring while he washes away the oil and dirtied snow remnants from her skin, her previously gray coat coming away lighter, almost cream. “Lily?” he muses, and _swears_ she shakes her head at him. He could go with obvious names—Mary, Claire, Jo, Cassie—but they’re too human. For some, too painful to say aloud. “Or should we wait for your uncles to get back?”

She doesn't answer him, just swims around the tub and flicks her tail.

Dean lets the water drain after a while and pulls the Peterbald to his chest, drying her off with one of their softer towels. She doesn't complain once and continues to purr when he returns to his bedroom, depositing her on the bedspread. She wanders for a bit, flexing her claws into the bedding before flopping down to lick her paws, using one to rub above her eyes.

 _A cat_ , Dean thinks as he sits by the pillows, finally untying his shoes and shucking them off into the corner. _I found a cat, and I’m not sneezing my head off_.

He laughs and lowers his head, just in time for the Peterbald to stand and rub against his arm, demanding his attention. “Guess you’re gonna stay here, huh?” he asks, mostly to himself. She purrs on, her meow caught in a yawn. With a chuckle, he lets himself fall flat, the cat once again crawling onto his chest and settling there. “Gonna have to make some arrangements, then.”

Sam answers on the second ring, immediately putting the call on speaker. “You need anything on the way back?” Sam asks, the rumble of the Thriftmaster audible over the line.

“Yeah, uh…” He looks to the Peterbald, her eyes now closed, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. “Gonna need a litterbox, and some dry food, if you can find a Petsmart around you.”

Castiel chokes in the background, startled. “You—While we were gone?” he says, an accusation in his tone.

Sam joins in with, “Where did you get a _cat_ , Dean? I thought you were—.”

“I am, but… Not this one.” Calmly, he pets from between her ears to her back, then traces a line up her nose. “Found her at the church, I couldn’t just leave her there… Figure, we all get a pet, and she can keep the rats out of the sub basement.”

Sam laughs, amused. Somehow, he knows both he and Castiel are smiling, Castiel probably with hearts in his eyes. “So, did you name her yet? Or do we get first pick?”

“Finders keepers, Sammy,” Dean joshes. “If you guys have something better than what I got, then let’s hear it.”

“We’ll see when we get there,” Castiel says, mirthful.

They hang up after a short while, Dean tossing his phone to the end of the bed, landing in a soft thud. He pets between her eyes again, his chest rumbling as she purrs in her sleep, like she’s found herself a home. “Doubt they’d come up with anything good, anyway. What d’you think, Jude?”

Jude just sleeps on.

**Author's Note:**

> So it's not destiel, but I saw [Maria's fanart](http://sketchydean.tumblr.com/post/138505467656/gently-requests-an-art-consider-dean-loves) today and I was like "oh yeah, I like Peterbalds." And I've been writing my novels nonstop, and I needed a break for an hour. So, have some Dean and a hairless cat! I totally didn't make myself cry.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
